Hope Springs Eternal

Over the course of days, I attended two events at opposite poles. One, an engagement party for a young couple. The other, a visitation for the death of one of Ken's cousins. The contrast of the two is still resonating within me. 

The impossibly-young couple sparkled like gin fizz (well, it seems more and more like that...and I am very much in favor of people marrying -- the younger, the better). I married my sweetheart when I was 21 and we grew up together, through the storms and tides of life. We weathered them with all the naivete and (probably) stupidity we could muster. Two flawed folks with their own perspectives from very different family cultures, thrown together in a boat and hoping to sail. As I looked on these two youngsters at the soiree, fresh-faced and beautiful, with family and friends gleeful and celebratory, it brought a smile to my heart. No one knows what the future will bring -- joys, trials, heartache, bliss, sin, triumph, glory -- all mixed together in a tumult of trying to stay ahead of the swells. The operative word that night was: hope.  

Yesterday's trek was very different...my sister-in-love and her husband and I had one incentive, really: love on Aunt Frances. There would be other loved ones there too, but she was top on the list. She has endured the loss of a husband, a sister, a young son years ago and now this son, with a devastating, quick illness and death.  We left late afternoon, for a 2 - 1/2 hour drive ahead of Atlanta traffic, where we knew we'd have to make the same journey back as soon as visitation was over. My stomach was roiling before we even left. With the Atlanta insanity and herky-jerky driving, I wondered if I had been wise in coming. But as we moseyed through the roads, our word boxes began to empty and before long, the traffic began to fall away. Going to Washington, Georgia is like a trip back in time for me. I get misty-eyed as I remember Ken's grandparents and family, those early years where we visited them regularly. We arrived at the funeral home, promptly broke in line to head straight to Frances (my deep apologies to everyone else who had been waiting). It was for the best, as she melted into Melissa's arms and then mine, her grief palpable. I could see the strength behind her eyes, but also the aching sorrow. These things, you never recover from. You can only hope to learn, eventually, to live with them, cracked and all. There was an awkwardness as we had to make way for others to give her their condolences. It felt as if we should just head right back home, but we didn't. We settled in to conversations and hugs with other family members, becoming more and more comfortable with each others' stories and updates. A hum of voices and laughter settled over the room, as people came and went and the core of the family stayed to comfort each other. Like it or not, we are grateful. Grateful for each other and grateful to still be alive. We said our goodbyes and hugged our lasts, then pulled away into the inky night. Even through this dark side of life, my heart had the same response: hope.